


Where it will break at last

by Lilleke



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilleke/pseuds/Lilleke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t know for how long she was already living basically next doors, but she grow more and more suspicious when the letters which arrived from time to time switched into little notes which were regularly found pinned up at her door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where it will break at last

**Author's Note:**

> So a friend challenged me to write something really cheesy and obviously I failed at it. :D
> 
> However, that's the result and English in not my mother tongue and I also had no beta reader. (If someone wants to help out, then yay.) So I'm sorry in advance for all the mistakes.
> 
> The title is part of a poem written by Percy Shelley.

She didn’t know for how long she was already living basically next doors, but she grow more and more suspicious when the letters which arrived from time to time switched into little notes which were regularly found pinned up at her door.

  
Whenever a new one appeared an annoyed groan left her mouth as soon as she saw the well-known handwriting. It happened far too often lately, for her taste at least. Often lines of poetry where scribbled on them and Joan had the habit to google them. She was craving an answer to all the hidden messages, which Moriarty must hide in those lines of poetry.

  
Then Moriarty started with invitations. She wanted to see her in overpriced restaurants, of course. However, Joan mostly just throw the notes away. She didn’t want to have anything to do with a murderer, a psychopath and after all the woman who was Sherlock’s ex.

  
There was a knock at her door while she was just preparing herself some tea caught deeply in her own thoughts and before she could do anything the same door swung open and Sherlock appeared holding another pin-up note in his hands.

  
“From waiting to not waiting for you, my heart moves from cold to fire.” Sherlock teetered on the floor while reciting the words he had just read before entering into Joan’s flat.

  
“Pablo Neruda.” Joan said as if it would be a normal thing to know the author from hearing nothing more than two lines of a poem, but it wasn’t the first time Moriarty had used this poet. As much as Joan tried to ignore Moriarty, she just couldn’t. She kept in mind the poems she sent her and tried to understand the message which was much too obvious and made her feel uncomfortable in a way she doesn’t want anyone to make her feel, especially not someone like Moriarty.

  
“She’s going to destroy you.” He gave her a serious look while offering his regular warning to not let herself persuade into Moriarty’s dangerous games.

  
Joan rolled her eyes and took the note wordlessly throwing it into the crash can. “I know better than to trust her, but it bothers me that she kind of lives next doors.” It indeed bothered her a lot, because she knew that Moriarty must have done that on purpose. She often wondered what the younger woman had in mind.

  
“You interest her.” He wandered around her flat and finally placed a file on her desk. This must have contained the newest information about their recent case.

  
“But why?” Joan picked up the file and rummaged through the papers. It was a homicide, two drunk men fighting at night in the streets when one pulled out a knife.

  
“She’s drawn to things she doesn’t understand.”

  
“Tell me something new. I know she wants to figure me out, she told me herself. She would move on then.” Joan remembered being with Moriarty at the Fuller’s flat when she explained her intentions to her. Somehow she interested her as well. She had figured her out once, so she will again, Joan lied to herself. This was another game, a game where Moriarty made the rules and Joan knew just too well how dangerous those games can be. She had seen Sherlock fall and she knew much better than to participate in those games.

  
“Moving on? How do you think a Moriarty moves on?” He raised his eyebrow and walked over to Clyde’s habit handing him the lettuce Joan left on the kitchen counter before he had shown up surprisingly.

  
“If she wants to kill me, she already had many chances to do so.”

  
“I think she’s in love with you considering the poetry she sends you.” Sherlock offered and gained a loud laugh from Joan for it.

  
She placed the file back on the table and sat down on the nearby chair. Her eyes weren’t set on him, rather she had turned her face and looked out of the window.

  
“She’s drawn to you. It was you she wanted to see after she rescued Kayden and not me.” Joan stated absently, because the last words of Sherlock wouldn’t leave her alone. She couldn’t believe that someone like Moriarty could love, at last she was sure that the younger woman wouldn’t even understand the concept of love. Moriarty is alone, she was thinking to herself and she wasn’t sure if it was a fact or rather to calm herself down. She was already involved in Moriarty’s game, deeper than she would admit and farer than she ever wanted.

  
“Still you interest her. But I’ve to excuse myself now.” Joan turned around and nodded watching Sherlock leave.  
Her tea stood forgotten on the counter and Joan just stared into nowhere when she heard someone rummaging in front of her door.

Jamie has never spent much time in New York, but since her recent release from prison which she rather bought with information than that she deserved it, she decided to purchase a safe house somewhere in this town.

  
Of course it didn’t happen by accident that she moved in next to Watson. Nothing Jamie Moriarty does is. She craves to get under this woman’s skin. The woman she underestimated so badly that this mistake made her ending up in jail.

  
When she sat on that hospital bed and understood that she was defeated by the woman who she thought was Sherlock’s puppet rather than his partner, she tried to remember her face. She wanted her face burned into her memory and she wanted to draw her and it amused her how uncomfortable Watson felt seeing the huge portray of herself. Jamie was satisfied that she indeed caught every little detail about her.

  
The case had enraged her which after all was the reason for Sherlock and Watson to show up in the warehouse where she had been imprisoned. She had trusted Gaspar and now he put a threat to her daughter. How did he even found out that Kayden was her daughter? She had always been so careful and discreet. Heck, she also always told herself that she wouldn’t care about this child, but seeing the little girl’s life in danger made her angrier than she would ever admit. Of course she wanted to help solving the case or rather she knew it was her job in the end. She wouldn’t be Moriarty if she would rely on the NYPD alone.

  
She needed to see the crime scene so she was pretty surprised when Watson was the one who offered to accompany her. They had been so incredibly close in the Fuller’s flat. Too close for her taste while she explained to Watson what she had in mind.

  
“You’d be surprised what I’d do for love.” She had told her and she wasn’t only talking about Kayden back then and after all she would never admit loving anyone, not even her own daughter whom she didn’t know at all. Watson had laughed. She saw only the monster in her.

  
The rest went by in a blur and of course in her way, Moriarty’s way. All she felt was anger. She was angry at the NYPD for searching too long in dead ends, while her little girl’s life was at a high risk.

  
Gaspar needed to die and this had to happen in the most painful way, she thought to herself.

  
As soon as she was released from the hospital and Kayden was returned safely to her _mother_ she demanded to be allowed to send letters to Watson, but in contrary to Sherlock Watson’s side stayed cold. She never wrote her back and it frustrated her.

  
Of course it was easy for her to find out Joan’s address. Her empire might have lost influence and she did lose some of her best men who abandoned her. Still she had enough minions left who did good work and they knew better than to betray her.

  
Her flat was rather empty. She owned not much more than a bed and a wardrobe. Of course one of her rooms was converted into a studio. Heck, she didn’t care much about furniture since she wasn’t going to spend much time here anyway.

  
Most of her time she was traveling around the world, doing her kind of work. She always sent postcards to Watson and sometimes she wrote letters, but she never received an answer. It frustrated her on a whole new level that she decided to let others do the dirty work and to focus on her investigations in New York.

  
She noticed pretty soon that Watson rarely left her flat and she wondered why. Jamie was surprised by the amount of compassion she felt for Watson. Naturally it wasn’t her style to simply walk on knocking at her door. Watson wouldn’t be happy about that anyway and it was way out of Jamie’s style. So she started leaving notes for Watson pinned up at her door.

  
‘She's the grief of my heart, the joy of my eye, and the cause of a flame that never can die’ she had written on the first one. Lines she took from a poem written by Sir George Etherege.

  
Jamie loved art and so she loved poems.

  
‘Never seek to tell thy love; love that never told can be; for the gentle wind doth move; silently, invisibly.’ She wrote on another note taking the words from William Blake.

She knew that she wasn’t very subtle with those lines and she also had no intention to be so. Besides poems she also wrote invitation to eat dinner with her, but Watson showed not a hint of a reaction.

‘What are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me.’ She held that note in her hand with words written by Percy Shelley on it when the door opened unexpectedly.

“Joan” She smirked hiding perfectly that she felt caught. “I’m so delighted to see you.”

“Moriarty” Was all that Joan offered in response.

“I was expecting our meeting to be much more…captivating.” And without asking she slipped into Watson’s flat.

Joan followed her wandering around in the huge room being confused rather than afraid what she probably should have been with a mass murderer wandering around in her private space.

Jamie picked up the file which was still laying on Joan’s desk and scanned it with an interesting look, but Watson grabbed it strongly out of her hands and placed it out of her reach.

“Do you welcome an old friend like that?” Jamie asked smirking again.

Joan groaned. “We aren’t friends Jamie.” And she surprised herself by the usage of Moriarty’s first name.

“We are so much more.” Jamie leant over and whispered those words into Joan’s ears clearly invading Joan’s comfort zone.

The other woman shuddered and a warm spill flowed over her spine. Moriarty is too close again, she wanted to shoo her away, but Jamie grabbed her left hand holding her closer than Joan would ever allow her to if she wouldn’t have been so distracted and placed her other hand on Joan’s cheek.

Joan felt the urge to move away, but something made her stay and she closed her eyes when Jamie’s lips smooched her own. Jamie was not rough as Joan expected her to be. The kiss was slowly and her lips were incredibly soft and Joan seemed to forget everything around her.

She should have felt alarmed, should have rather ran away. She will destroy her. She knew it and still deepened the kiss.


End file.
